


An Experiment Gone Right? - A Mystrade Fanfiction

by ThatWeirdFangirl



Series: No Sherlock, You Can't Drug People [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, Fluff, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes and Experiments, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-11 23:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2087286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatWeirdFangirl/pseuds/ThatWeirdFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is up to more shenanigans, and his brother ends up on Greg Lestrade's doorstep in the pouring rain. What could possibly be wrong with him? What will result from the night Sherlock drugged his brother?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Rain

A cold March rain had been descending upon London for days and no end seem to be in sight. Greg Lestrade sat on his sofa, wrapped in a blanket. His waning attention drifted from the book in his lap to the old Admirals game on the television. The clock read well past midnight and Greg, exhausted from a solid three weeks tracking down a serial kidnapper, debated on sleeping on the couch. He was taking the next three days off to recover and didn't really care if he had a stiff neck in the morning.  
He had just started dozing when he heard his phone "ping" with a new text message. 

Tell me if you hear from my brother in the next few hours. May or may not have drugged him and John. Don't ask. - SH

Greg sighed and set his phone on the table. As if on cue, he heard a knock on the door. He stood and went to unlatch it, where he found a Mycroft Holmes, with his unopened umbrella at his side, standing in the pouring rain.

He looked dazed and confused and didn't say anything as Greg silently invited him into the flat. He put a kettle on the stove and scrambled to find towels for the dripping man. He sat the man on a few towels and proceeded to help him out of his jacket. He then poured a cup of tea for the man and set it in front of him. He didn't touch it.

"I have some clothes you can wear. I don't want your suit to get ruined." He explained slowly as the man stared at him with large, dilated pupils. 

Greg went to retrieve an old set of pajamas and returned to find the elder Holmes brother staring at the ceiling, wearing nothing but boxers.

A jolt of fear washed over him as he remembered how that younger brother had been in the same position many times in the past. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and helped the younger man into the night clothes. 

"You can sleep on my couch tonight." Greg explained. "Goodnight." He put a hand on the man's shoulder and gave him a quick pat on the back as he draped a blanket over the man.  
Greg took a few minutes to hang up Mycroft's suit and to text his assistant the location of her boss. Though, he had a hunch that his employees already knew his location. Still, it was a common courtesy. 

Greg sighed as another message appeared on his phone from Sherlock. 

Comfort him. - SH

He looked at Mycroft's peaceful sleeping face and wondered why the British Government would need comforting. If he could handle the threat of nuclear warfare, he could handle anything, right?  
Still, in the back of his mind, he knew that a man that strong would have to have some weakness and one day that weakness would bring him to his knees. 

He sighed again and gently stroked the hair on the sleeping man's head. 

"If you need anything, I'll be in the next room. I'll be here for you, always." He whispered.

Finally, he kissed the man's forehead, almost absentmindedly. He had often done that with his daughter when she was younger and suffering from night terrors. It was a habit that wouldn't seem to die, he chuckled. 

Then, he went into his room and prepared for bed.

Greg awoke with someone standing at the foot of his bed. At first, he jumped, only to realize that the auburn-haired man was looking at him with a pained expression. 

"Mr. Holmes, what's wrong?" He asked, his breath barely a whisper.

Mycroft was then crawling onto the bed and curling up against his chest. 

Greg laid there, frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do. He then proceeded to wrap his arms around the younger man. He rubbed his back, as if he were comforting a child.

Mycroft, at some point, had started sobbing quietly as he gripped Greg's shirt. After a few minutes he had calmed down and looked at Gregory with those large, grey eyes. The color of an oncoming storm.

"What's wrong?" Greg whispered. "I'm here if you want to talk."

Mycroft's eyes suddenly became filled with tears and he clung to Greg. 

Greg resigned himself to not getting any answers until he heard Mycroft whisper, "They made me choose."

"Who?" Greg replied. "And what did you have to choose?"

"I don't know. But I had to choose between the two people I love the most." The man's voice was shaking and his shoulders trembling. "I had to choose who would live and who would die. I had to choose between Sherlock and..." He broke into sobs again. Greg tried to comfort him, but Mycroft wanted to finish speaking. He drew a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "I had to choose between Sherlock and..."

He mumbled the last word and Greg asked him to repeat it.

"You. Sherlock and you. It was a dream, but it was so real..." Mycroft finally collapsed into exhaustion against Greg's chest. 

Greg's mind was racing. Had Mycroft just confessed feelings of affection? He had never guessed. He thought Mycroft was like his brother, married to his work.

Greg found himself smiling as he pulled the sleeping man closer. He had dated men when he was younger, but with Mycroft, even as friends, he had felt a much stronger attraction than with any other human. Yes, he liked Mycroft, but he had never realized the other's feelings, until now. 

For once, he was glad that Sherlock had done one of his weird experiments; his romantic life was being affected greatly. Though, he would have to talk with the detective to clarify exactly what had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fanfiction. If you like it or want more, comment. I will also take any prompts in the comment section because I have serious writer's block. Thanks for reading!


	2. At the Yard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft has been ignoring Greg for weeks and Sherlock is acting out of character. What is happening in London?

The bed was freezing when Greg finally awoke. The only trace of the other man was a faint musky scent that lingered on Greg's pillow and clothes. He sat there a long time, simply breathing in the scent. Although it was initially musky, there was an underlying sweetness and Greg couldn't get enough of the scent.

After a while of simply holding the pillow to his face, Greg tossed it aside as his phone started ringing. Apparently, the kidnapper had several accomplices and he was needed to help find them. So much for a break from his work. 

He sighed as he started pulling on his suit and making coffee. Just as he was leaving, he ran to his room and inhaled the scent on his pillow one more time, smiling to himself and feeling as if he were high (he had been undercover a few times in his younger days) and as if he could do anything.

 

The Yard had been scrambling for weeks. Someone had decided to convert all of the old paper files into digital copies. Just as everything had been pulled out of storage and things had been looking to be slow, there was an appearance of not only one, but two serial killers running on a rampage through London. They also happened to be related to some terrorist groups, so with the government involved, things were going extremely slowly and the Detective Inspector's stress was skyrocketing. 

On top of everything, Mycroft had not even contacted him. He had found his pajamas washed and folded on his bed the next time he had returned to his flat, but there had been no note and Mycroft had missed three weekly check-ins that they usually used to keep an eye on Sherlock. 

Greg felt rather rejected by Mycroft's actions. He had said that he loved him. But, was it romantically or as friends? No, friends didn't curl up to each other's chests and go to sleep, did they? Well, Mycroft had been out-of-sorts, judging by Sherlock's text messages, but Greg felt that some explanation was needed. And Mycroft couldn't avoid him forever. He just had to be patient. 

 

That night, some of the officers went to a pub and they forced Greg to go along. He had been overworking himself and he deserved a break, they had argued. He didn't need much convincing though, and after a couple of beers, he was getting teary-eyed over his lack of Mycroft's attention. He craved the man's scent, wanted to kiss him, make him say that he loved him again.

Soon, however, he found himself stumbling out of the establishment, gripped by a cold pair of hands. 

"What's the big idea?" He slurred. He had drunk more than he thought. He turned around to face the man, only to find Sherlock Holmes standing in front of him. 

"Case. I solved it. Have two serial killers tied to my couch. I require your assistance. I have the location of the attempted bomb as well. You might want to disable that and send an ambulance to Baker Street." He said cooly as Greg fumbled with his phone. He told the officers on duty how to handle things and sent out the bomb squad.

"Why do you need an ambulance? Is John hurt?" He mouthed as Donovan, on the other side of the phone, was repeating her orders.

Sherlock chuckled. "No, my dear Doctor was the cause of the injuries. He doesn't take too kindly to someone smashing what descent flatware we have remaining from my experiments. His limp all but disappeared as he threw them down the stairs and dragged them back up, only to throw them down again. If they die, may I have their ribs?"

"Talk to Molly on that one." Greg sighed after he ended his call. "Well, it looks like things are done on my part. I'm going to go home, if you don't mind. Give John a 'hello' from me." 

He had turned on his heel and had started walking down the street when a thought hit him. 

"Sherlock, why didn't you just call me? Why did you track me down, just to tell me this in person?" He locked eyes with the detective.

"No reason. I was bored and John took my gun to keep our little killers in the flat." He said with a hint of annoyance. Greg knew he was lying, but he was too drunk to care. All he wanted to do was go home and curl up with the pillow that now longer contained the elder Holmes' scent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful comments! Originally, this was going to be a one-shot, but I would like to keep going with this story (and I need to feel like I've done something over the summer other than read other fanfictions.) I'll try to post every few days, so again thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter!


	3. Misunderstandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg has been having a terrible day. Who could possibly make it worse?

Greg was annoyed. The day had gone from bad to worse and now the worst possible thing that could happen was now standing in front of his desk.

First, he had spilled scalding coffee all over his freshly dry-cleaned suit as soon as he had entered Scotland Yard. He didn’t have any spare clothes in his office, so he had to borrow someone’s spare button-down shirt that was three sizes too small. 

Second, he had been called out to three murders over four hours. The witnesses to two of them happened to be a bus of school children. The same bus of school children. Twice. They had easily caught the murderer, though. He had been hitching rides on the back of the bus and had started killing on a drug-induced rampage. Now, however, he had ten crying children and ten children who wanted to see the dead bodies sitting in Scotland Yard. Sally was handling them, but a few had wandered from the group and two were sitting in his office, crying for their mothers. And he still had to find the other murderer. 

Clearly needing Sherlock’s help, he had called both Sherlock and John’s numbers, only to find both phones going to voicemail. He had just gotten ready to leave, taking the children back to Donovan after calling their mothers, when he realized he had forgotten an important file on his desk. 

And there was a figure leaning against his desk, the signature umbrella being used like a cane. 

“We need to talk.” The iceman said in a cold manner. He didn’t look at Greg’s face, finding something more interesting on his designer shoes. 

“I don’t have time for this, Mycroft. I have a murder to solve and twenty six-year olds who either want to see dead bodies or will need therapy for years.” Greg went around the man and pulled the file from his desk. His tone was growing more annoyed with each word. How dare he to simply appear, out of nowhere, and expect him to drop everything he was doing. “If you want to talk, I would be glad to join you for coffee when our schedules allow. Frankly, you should have called weeks ago if you wanted my attention so badly.” 

Mycroft had stepped in front of the doorway, not allowing the DI to pass. He towered over him, his face normal, but something...wrong with him. Greg couldn’t quite place it. 

“I. Don’t. Have. Time. For. This.” Greg repeated, his tone borderline enraged. He was tempted to push the elder Holmes out of the way, even if it most likely would end in Greg disappearing forever at the hands of the auburn-haired man. “Let me leave so I can solve this case and go home.”

“We both know you are going to get drunk out of your mind. You’ve been doing that whenever you have the next day off. And you are off tomorrow unless called. So, one of the pubs to forget your worries? To find a quick shag?” Mycroft whispered. “You always turn to alcohol when you have problems with people. Who is it this time? Did your former wife contact you? Do you have a new lover? Is she attractive? Did you two fight?”

“If you really want to know who is causing me trouble, you should look in the mirror. Now, I am leaving.” Mycroft silently stepped aside, letting the angry inspector pass. The door closed with a thud, but Mycroft didn’t hear it.

His umbrella fell to the floor as he leaned against the door. He couldn’t breathe. The world was blurry as he felt tears rolling down his cheeks. He sank to the floor and silently sobbed as his distance with the man he loved grew. His thoughts grew more cluttered as he realized what he had accidentally destroyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short. I felt like it ended in a good place for the chapter. Also, would you guys like a bit of Johnlock in this story or should I make another story altogether for them? Anyways, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. :)


	4. Man to Man Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg wants to forget Mycroft, so he goes drinking with John and John receives a mysterious call.

Greg arrived at Baker Street late in the evening. He knew how Sherlock kept strange hours, if he even slept at all. The door, however, was suddenly flung open as Sherlock stormed down the steps, leaving an enraged John standing in the doorway. John shouted a few curses at Sherlock and turned to Greg. 

“Sorry about that.” He sighed. “Would you like some tea?” Greg nodded and sat on the sofa as John shuffled around the kitchen. Finally, John brought the tea: two mismatched cups on two more mismatched saucers. “Sorry about the dishes. We had a little issue with some company the other day.” John finally smiled.

“It’s fine. I heard about it from Sherlock. I know what to get you for your birthday now, John.” Greg smiled. “I heard you gave them quite a beating. And all over dishes?”

John shook his head. “I was taking out my aggressions on them. Couldn’t help it. Sherlock… he did some things and I have wanted to murder him several times for it. Then they came and made a wreck of the place and I just exploded. It’s alright though. They both survived. Sherlock was quite disappointed when I told him he couldn’t keep their teeth.”

“Remind me to never meet you on a cross day then.” Greg chuckled as he sipped his tea. “May I ask what Sherlock did?” 

John sighed and grinned. “Sherlock was being Sherlock and he fed me something with drugs in it. It might have been cake. Can't really remember. He was trying to create some sort of truth serum for a case and thought it was good to test it out on me. I still can’t remember anything. Looks like I’m missing another Wednesday. I love the man to death and back, but he is insane."

"Why did you two just have that row?" Greg and John had become good friends and John had often confided in him when Sherlock was being...well, Sherlock. 

"Does it matter?" John sighed. "He probably went running to his brother, since you're here. Leave the case on the coffee table and let's go grab a drink." He grabbed his jacket and the two left Baker Street. 

After several drinks, Greg started spilling all of the events with Mycroft as John listened intently. He left out the part that Mycroft had been out of it; he felt that was a moment between them. He only said that Mycroft had implied that he loved him. After explaining, John sighed. "Seems like you have a mess. I think the both of you should just sit and talk, with everything out in the open. If you like him and he likes you, you need to communicate mutually."

"I suppose so. But he thinks I'm with someone else and that I'm angry with him because I was a bit harsh. I want to apologize, but he won't return my calls or texts. Any way, we came here to forget our troubles, right? So let's drink and hope the British Government doesn't murder his brother, or vice versa."

They clinked glasses and, as Greg went to the loo, John received a call from Sherlock. They talked for a few minutes and finally John ended the call when Greg returned. 

"Who's that?" He asked 

"Sherlock is drunk. We need to run by Mycroft's, if you don't mind. Do you have your cuffs? He's an arse when he's drunk." John said almost melodramatically. Greg nodded, showing his cuffs. They paid the tab and hailed a cab for the address John had been texted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said no Johnlock, but I need them to help carry the story and I will elaborate in another story on Sherlock and John. Sorry and thank you for reading. I hope it will all make sense in the end.


	5. Sherlock Has A Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock, in an out-of-character gesture, decides to help with his brother's romantic life. What can he do about the situation? Well, he does what Sherlock does.

Earlier that day, Sherlock had received a text from his brother. His brother never texted, not unless he was incapable of talking. Since he had no dentist appointments on his calendar, Sherlock's interest was piqued. He was most likely having an emotional break-down and needed his brother to help reign-in the uncontrollable human emotions that sometimes plagued the both of them. These occurrences had grown more prevalent in the recent months, for both of them.

Need help. My flat. Door unlocked. - MH

Sherlock knew he would be a while at Mycroft's flat; his brother was always so dramatic and loved to annoy Sherlock by wasting time that could be spent on experiments. He didn't want John to question him going to his brother's home, however, because he never went to Mycroft's willingly. He only went during either emotional struggles, of which John had no knowledge, and when he was annoyed with John for yelling at him for something or another.

Mycroft seemed to be in a vulnerable state and Sherlock couldn't help but be protective towards the man. He had taught him everything and at one point in his childhood, he had admired his brother. Even if he couldn't stand his guts now, he was still family and there was enough brotherly affection left from his childhood that he could handle a kind gesture once every ten years or so. He trusted John, but he didn't want John near the British Government as his mask was cracking. Let the hidden cracks be seen by those who can patch them and remain beautiful in the eyes of everyone else. Only show weakness to those who are aware of it.

So he decided that he had to make John angry with him so he could rush to his brother's aid. And so, he tried. After several failed attempts that ended in exasperated sighs and a flaming human finger in a tea mug, Sherlock had resigned himself to the couch and had absentmindedly deduced some embarrassing things about John, leading to several things being thrown at his head and John telling him to never show his face around the flat again. He had accidentally gotten kicked out of the flat, he thought, after putting in so much effort to intentionally annoy John. He needed to apologize soon, before John cooled down and realized his antic, but he would apologize only after he had spoken with his brother. 

As he was being run out of the flat, he ran into Lestrade, who seemed to have just been in an argument, judging by the flush on his face and his throbbing temple. He had a case file in his hands. Sherlock paused only for a moment before rushing down the stairs and into a cab. Only enough time to make a few obvious deductions about Lestrade and to tie his scarf. The case would have to wait.

He found his brother sitting on the floor by the marble fireplace, his head leaned back on the seat of the antique sofa. He stared at the ceiling, one hand holding a glass of cognac and the other resting on his knee. 

"I didn't think you'd come." He whispered as he continued to stare at the ceiling. His eyes were red and his voice raw. His white button-down shirt was splattered with darker marks that Sherlock knew were tears. 

"You aren't one to make drunken requests via text. I figured something was wrong." Sherlock walked towards his brother and removed the glass from his hand. Setting it on the table, he then helped his brother onto the sofa. 

"You hardly ever show emotion. Now, who has your little mind wrapped around his finger this time?" Mycroft blushed and hid his face in one of the sofa's pillows. 

"It doesn't matter. I screwed it up. He made it clear that I am causing him pain. He's started drinking, going out a lot. He probably found a pretty, young female with low self-esteem. He doesn't want me." Mycroft whined like an unruly child and he swatted at Sherlock's hand as he tried to muse his auburn hair in a comforting manner. 

"If I wanted to be abused, I would have followed Lestrade home." Mycroft hissed as he stood on his rather uneasy feet. 

His head was spinning and he was sure that he would have a hangover tomorrow. His first in twenty years. He fell to his knees as he tried to steady himself. He then felt two thin, but strong arms lift him and carry him towards his room. 

"You took care of me when I was in my darkest place and I will do the same for you. I caused this mess. I'll fix it. Please, stay here and try to sober up." Sherlock whispered as he placed his brother on the bed. Mycroft didn't register the words, but he curled up against a pillow and fell asleep.

Sherlock sighed as he closed the door and began formulating a plan. He calculated Mycroft's probable blood alcohol levels and determined how long it would take him to be capable of thinking clearly. He decided upon two hours and forty-five minutes and set about putting his plan into action and cleaning up after his brother, who had somehow deposited his coat and waistcoat in the kitchen in his drunken stupor.

Finally, after two hours, he called a slightly intoxicated John and explained his plan, after apologizing for starting the fight, of course. After forty-five minutes, exactly, John and Greg were in the flat. 

Sherlock stumbled in front of them, holding the bottle that Mycroft had been using earlier. 

"Gavin, so nice to see you." He slurred his words just enough to seem drunk. He made sure that there was blood splattered all over his hands and clothes.

"Why are you covered in blood?" Lestrade asked as he reached for his handcuffs. "Where is your brother?" A wave of fear overcame him. The blood wasn't Sherlock's. And the only other person in the house was... Mycroft.

"Upstairs. I personally think he deserved it." Sherlock gave Greg a skin-crawling grin. "Second door to the right, if you want to see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I am sorry about the Sherlock-centric chapter. However, the next chapter will be all about Mycroft and Lestrade. I promise. As always, thank you for reading and if you have any requests for future stories or simply like the story so far, comment. Have a good day! :)


	6. Oh, the Wonders of Handcuffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg rushes to Mycroft's bedroom to see what has become of him. Feelings are revealed, as well as a lot of skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two men in love. In a bedroom. I think you can get the picture. Enjoy.  
> *WARNING: There is smut in this chapter. It is not well-written smut, but it is still smut. There is also a tad bit of violence, but Sherlock brought it upon himself.*

Greg's fist connected with Sherlock's chin and he was suddenly pinning Sherlock to the ground and handcuffing him. He didn’t want to believe that Sherlock would be capable of doing it. But he was. He had seen him stab people when he had been on drugs. Greg had several scars on his arms where a cocained Sherlock had tried to avoid arrest.

"Watch him, Watson." He shouted as he sprinted up the stairs and flung open the door to Mycroft's bedroom. 

He didn’t want to believe that Mycroft might be dead. In retrospect, this was the moment that Greg realized he loved Mycroft. He couldn’t imagine a world without him. No lunch break cups of coffee to discuss Sherlock, no being “kidnapped” by his black cars to secret locations where it was only them, no sweet but musky scent that would linger on his clothes after the man had curled against his chest, no partner-in-crime to help him with Sherlock when John was pissed at him, no person to be his best friend (John was close, but not as close as Mycroft). An existence without Mycroft Holmes would be a miserable one.

His mind was racing as he threw open the double doors of Mycroft’s bedroom, his thoughts crying out "no" over and over again until he finally registered the scene. Mycroft was on the bed. He was breathing. He was hugging a pillow. He was not bleeding from any stab wounds. He was alive. He was alive. He was alive.

Greg’s thoughts stopped for a moment as he processed everything. He fell to his knees in relief as he kept saying, “He’s alive,” aloud. 

"Gregory?" Mycroft questioned, his voice rough and words slurred, as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. His head was throbbing, and he was surprised when Gregory scrambled to embrace the man. 

Greg didn’t notice that the door closed behind him and was locked from the outside, using the handcuffs that Greg had unwittingly brought with him.However, Mycroft, even with a throbbing head, did. Mycroft pushed Greg from him, leaving a confused and rather heart-broken man on standing beside the bed.

As Mycroft tried to open the door and finding that it wouldn’t budge, a note appeared at his feet. 

Resolve the issues between yourselves before John and I return from our date. Neither of you are leaving until you do. -SH

Further down the note, there was a second message:

Sorry about this. As many drinks as you want, Greg. Mycroft, I'll make sure there are no hallucinogenics or any other drugs in the flat before your next visit. It is for your own good though. You have both been in terrible moods, even though you clearly love each other. Talk it through. Also, I am NOT his date. - JW

Mycroft dropped the note, immediately sober. Greg had come to the door to meet him and was now picking up and reading the note, immediately sober as he realized the situation. The note fell to the ground as he looked up to Mycroft. Mycroft was looking at his shoes and blushing. 

“Is it true?” Mycroft whispered as his blue eyes met the brown eyes of the Detective Inspector. “Do you love me?”

“Yes, I do.” He replied sheepishly, suddenly feeling the urge to adjust his shirt cuffs. “And you? Do you love me? I know you were on some sort of drug, but you could have been lying when you said that at my flat… And then you avoided me afterwards… I am not really...”

Mycroft suddenly grabbed his tie and pulled him into a passionate kiss. His tongue pressed against Greg’s lips and Greg easily relinquished control of his mouth. His tongue was hot and Greg felt teeth and, gosh, he hadn’t been kissed like this in years, not since he had gotten married. He placed his hands on the taller man’s waist and pulled him closer. Mycroft took the hint and pressed the man against the door, one hand running through the man’s silvery mane as the other gripped the tie tighter.

Finally, they separated when they both realized they needed to breathe. Panting, they leaned against the wall and looked into each other’s eyes. 

“Gregory Lestrade, I have been in love with you for fourteen years. I never had planned on telling you, but, as the popular saying goes, the cat is out of the bag. I didn’t contact you because i remembered my actions and I was, I daresay, embarrassed. I apologize for any misunderstanding and you had the right to yell at me earlier.” Mycroft said finally as he diverted his gaze to examine his fingernails. His face was flushed.

“You don’t need to apologize, not with a kiss like that. And, I am the one to blame. I have had a lot of stress lately and I took it out on you and hurt you in the process. I apologize too.” Greg took Mycroft’s hand and kissed it, then turned it over and kissed his wrist. He could feel the younger man’s pulse racing as he watched intently. 

“You know I am not a patient man, Gregory. Just kiss me already.” Mycroft snapped as he lunged at Greg. This new kiss made the other kiss seem chaste. Mycroft straddled the Inspector as his tongue invaded his mouth. They both struggled to maintain the upper-hand in the kiss, and neither would accept defeat. Greg’s hands found the button’s on Mycroft’s shirt and he undid them, running his palm down the man’s chest. 

Mycroft moaned softly at the contact and Greg knew he had won the battle. He rolled their bodies so that he was now straddling the younger man and started attacking his neck with kisses. Mycroft could only shiver at the hot breath on his neck and he moaned loudly when Greg nipped at his ears, his one weakness other than his brother. The slight stubbled prickling his skin had him arching into Greg. 

In a futile attempt, Mycroft started unbuttoning Greg’s shirt. Greg, however, stopped for a moment, lifted Mycroft, and deposited him on the large bed in the center of the room. He removed his shirt and tie and straddled the man again, now grinding their hips together. He grinned at the noise Mycroft made and continued exploring the man’s body. 

Strangely enough, Mycroft’s fingers were extremely sensitive. He began writhing underneath the Inspector and his reaction sent a strong wave of heat to his abdomen. 

“You are beautiful.” Greg whispered in Mycroft’s ear as he palmed the man’s crotch. “You are the most beautiful person, man or woman, that I have ever seen. And I am going to tell you that everyday until I am no longer breathing.” He kissed Mycroft’s lips as he pulled off the man’s trousers and pants. He then removed the remainders of his clothing and ran his fingers up and down Mycroft’s thighs, accidentally brushing his erect member. 

They moaned at the contact and their breaths became ragged and shallow as they started grinding into each other. Both of them were hard as rocks. “Please tell me you know what you are doing.” Mycroft gasped as Greg searched around the room for something.

“Night stand, second drawer.” Mycroft laughed, watching Greg’s confused expression. Greg reached into the drawer and found both lube and condoms. He cocked an eyebrow at Mycroft, who laughed again. 

“Contrary to whatever you have been told, I do find myself sexually… frustrated, sometimes.” Mycroft blushed. “It’s merely there in the event that I have a bed mate.”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me. I love you and I am very willing to help you with your...frustrations in the future.” Greg grinned as he returned to the bed. He kissed the man’s nose and squeezed the cold lube into his hand, then proceeded to insert his fingers, one at a time, into his lover, allowing him to adjust before continuing. 

He hadn’t been with a man in over twenty years, but he still remembered the basics and tried his best to make sure his partner was enjoying the experience. With a few thrusts with his fingers, he had Mycroft grinding into his hand, whimpering, and begging for some sort of friction. He thrust a bit more, finding the prostate, and the man arched his back wildly.

He looked at Greg pleadingly. “Want you inside me. Now.” He panted. His face was flushed and he was gripping the bed sheets. It was amazing how the man who was considered to be made of ice had been reduced to a whimpering puddle of want. “Gregory. Please.”

“Alright. Give me a minute.” Greg removed his fingers and rolled on the condom. He slathered his member with lube and placed his tip at Mycroft’s entrance, trying not to climax from his own hand. “Alright, relax now. If you want me to stop, tell me.”

“Never.” Mycroft groaned as Greg entered him. He clung to the man, his neatly-trimmed nails digging into the tan skin on the Inspector's back. With each inch, his groans became louder, until finally, Greg was completely inside him. The friction against his member between their stomachs nearly brought him to his climax. Mycroft pulled him into a passionate kiss as he settled into him. “Move.” He commanded, and Greg began lazily thrusting into the man, intentionally brushing Mycroft’s member between them. When he found the spot that had Mycroft moaning and nearly weeping in pleasure, he put more force behind them until he felt the coil of pleasure in his lower abdomen begin to build almost to a breaking point. 

“Myc…I’m going…” He groaned, as his head couldn’t put together complete sentences. The pleasure from both hearing and feeling the man was almost too much. 

“Me too.” Mycroft moaned as he pulled the man into another fiery kiss. Greg pounded into him with a frenzy now, and when he felt Mycroft’s muscles tense and spurt all over his stomach and heard the beautiful moan of his climax, he lost any strings holding him together and climaxed as well. They collapsed onto the bed, panting and holding each other closely, not caring that they were both sticky and sweaty. 

“I love you.” They said simultaneously, before bursting into a fit of laughter at their timing. The effects of alcohol were starting to have an effect on them, making them both tired. Mycroft curled up against Greg’s chest again and the situation was vaguely reminiscent of the rainy night several weeks ago. 

“You know, I’m glad Sherlock accidentally drugged me. However, if he does it again, I will take away his lab equipment.” Mycroft murmured as he took Greg's hand. 

“How exactly did he accidentally drug you, by the way? I’ve been wondering for a while.” Greg nuzzled into his hair, breathing in the addictive scent that could only be that of Mycroft. 

“That, Gavin, is a great question. If fatty here did not have such a sweet tooth and a desire to visit my flat at random intervals, he would not have eaten the cake that I had made for John.” Sherlock burst through the door, holding the handcuffs that he had hooked on the door. He dropped the handcuffs on the floor with a loud “clank”. John followed him into the room and tried to drag him back out of it. Both of the men were instantly awake, adrenaline pumping through their veins. 

“John was gracious enough to offer me a piece.” Mycroft retorted as he wrapped the sheet around his body. He was blushing furiously. “And why am I to blame when you were clearly trying to figure out if he is in love with you or not? He is, of course, but you didn’t have to make a truth serum for him. Now please, leave.” 

John was glaring at Sherlock. “You drugged me over that stupid reason? This is why I don’t remember the majority of my Wednesday’s with you? What is it, Drug Watson Wednesday? You are an idiot.” John stormed out of the room. Sherlock turned to leave, but was interrupted by Greg twisting his arm behind his back.

“You call him fat or pull another stunt like this again, and I will revoke any crime scene privileges for a month. Now, I have a case for you at Baker Street. Please solve it.”

“I already have. The files and evidence are on your desk. I’m off to go get John. Maybe some fingers and toes.” Sherlock replied before walking briskly out of the room. For a moment, a flash of fear that only Mycroft could have noticed overtook him.

Greg sighed and locked the door. He swept the handcuffs into his grasp with one foul swoop. “Well, it looks like I’ll have the day off tomorrow.” He dangled them from his index finger as he grinned. “Now, what do you suppose I do with these?” Mycroft's heart started hammering at that crooked smile. Yes, the traces of exhaustion and alcohol were entirely gone.

Mycroft smiled at the man he loved, the man who loved him back, and pulled him into a slow, chaste kiss. Maybe he should partake in Sherlock's experiments more often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the smut, if it isn't well-written. Previously, I have never written smut, but I am learning... 
> 
> Anyways, thank you all for reading! This is the end of my little story, though I will probably continue it with one-shots here and there. I will now start working on the Johnlock that occurred in this same timeline and will add links later. I have an idea for the two couples as well, so if you liked this, try checking back. I'll eventually get things written. :)
> 
> Thank you for the lovely comments and kudos. They are very supportive and make me want to continue with these stories.
> 
> Until the next time... have a great day!


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